Down Five

A week ago Sunday,  we got in from evening church services late,  around 9 pm,  and  I noticed my pond needed to be topped off.  I go and put the hose into the stream bed and turn the water on.  While walking away,  I make a mental note to be sure an turn the water off in about 10 minutes.  In the past we used to lose a lot of water on a daily basis because there was a tremendous amount that splashed off the rocks at the top of the waterfall, thankfully that is corrected now.

I love that pond, I have blogged about it before and even published pictures of it recently when I told the story about CC eating the little fishy that I was trying to save from being bullied by the bigger fish.  Yep, I really enjoy the pond.

Around 2 am I woke up to use the bathroom and while sitting on the toilet, half asleep, I realize the annoying sound I was hearing was actually the sound of running water.  I cock my head to the side trying to determine if it's the cheap flapper in the tank of the toilet I am actually sitting on that's leaking water and needs replacing, or if it's the toilet in the other bathroom.

That is when it hits me like a ton of bricks, that's the water hose I hear! Ahhhhhhggggghhhhh!!!!!!!  I practically trip over my own drawers in my haste to get outside as fast as I can to get the hose turned off.  Many thoughts race through my mind while I'm frantically punching the disarm code into the alarm; number one being that I was thankful that at least my memory didn't fail me right then, and I remembered to disarm the alarm.

The last thing I needed was for law enforcement to be dispatched because I had tripped the alarm and there was not a handset to be found  to let them know it was operator error and not an intruder.  We have teenagers in the house and they find it necessary to remove all phones from their charging stations never to be returned.  I don't even know why we have a house phone, we never have enough juice in the handsets for them to do much more than ring annoyingly.  You can't answer them, they go dead the minute you answer them.

I realize that it is highly possible that I had washed my fish completely out of the pond in the overflow of water pouring over the edge, and into the yard.  I was probably gonna step on one in my mad dash to the spigot and end up sliding on it like a banana peel down to the bottom of the yard, break a hip, and lay there till morning because no one can hear me yelling for help.  Maybe I should have tripped the alarm, at least the cops would find me.

Thankfully, I am able to make my way through the yard without incident and get the hose turned off.  I decide that whatever fate has befallen the fish can wait until daylight for me to witness and I trudge back through the yard and go back to bed.  After resetting the security system and sliding back between the sheets Ray turns over and says; "You leave the hose on?"  I grunt in affirmative, and go back to sleep.

When morning came, all four of my remaining fish were belly up in the pond.  Ray comes out onto the porch with his coffee and looks down at me while I'm fishing them out and placing them into a plastic bag and mentions his surprise at they're being dead.  I mumble that I'm pretty sure I drowned them.
I know, how do you drown a fish?  Well, in my pea brain, I felt like the continuous rush of water spilling down on them might have been too much for their poor little gills to handle and they might have been oxygen deprived, and therefore drowned.

Ronnie, a friend of ours, chose at that moment to call on Ray's cell and Ray told him my theory, a little sarcastically I might add.   Ronnie said it was more likely that they were poisoned with the large amount of chlorine going into the pond.  He's probably right, but I still like the look on peoples faces when  I say I drowned my fish.

It was a Monday when I scooped their lifeless bodies out of the pond, and since the garbage man doesn't come until Thursday, I decided to put them in the freezer until the night before, so they wouldn't be stinking up the can outside before trash day.  Well, once again I forgot.
When Abby went into the freezer today to scrounge something up for breakfast, she found my fish instead of Eggo's.  Sigh.....I wonder if I am suffering from dementia?  People will think so if they come to my house and find dead Koi in the freezer!

It may not sound like it, but I AM sad that I killed my fish.  I'm just busy trying to wrap my brain around the fact that Josi has been on a mission to hatch a chick or eleven and the floor of the cage is littered with eggs, eight of which she is currently sitting on.  We have a dog that acts like a porcupine and all you have to do is look at her hard and hair shoots out of her body at an alarming rate.  I still can't figure out why she isn't completely bald at this point.  We have a sugar glider that is really cute, but I am constantly fretting over whether or not she is getting enough calcium.  How did I end up with all these critters?

Abby, forever on the lookout for an opportunity to add to the menagerie was thrilled when Trina called the house yesterday to tell us that she only had two kittens left and we had "better act now" if we didn't want to miss out on the opportunity to have one for our very own.  I told her if a kitten showed up over here I was pretty sure I was gonna end up in divorce court.

Abby was in total disagreement when I told her that the last thing we needed around here was one more animal.  She said; "We are down five since you killed the fish so we got plenty of room."  Lawd, "Down Five"!  I can't wait till she has kids of her own, I'm gonna take them to the pound to adopt a pet every year for their birthday.....

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

Touching Bottom

Although there's no fear as I'm floating around, I admit I feel best with two feet on the ground.

The water is slapping the side of my float, I doze and pretend it is really a boat.

Fingertips wet from the dip in the swell,  doing best to ignore what creatures underneath dwell
.
The sun, it is blazing, the top of me's hot.  My bottom snuggled into the water is not.

My eyes crack open the tiniest bit.  Can I still see the land, am I castaway yet?

I shift myself forward, to dip my big toe.   Is that the bottom?  Crap!  Where did it go?

The shifting sand bottom, it matters not.  Whatever touched my foot, well, that matters a lot!

Me thinks I shall paddle a bit closer to shore, where my feet touch the bottom and there's people galore.

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

Safe S-E-X

Today I read an article about a school committee in Provincetown  Massachusetts, that unanimously adopted a condom distribution policy for the elementary school and high school.   It is part of their "safe sex education."

OK, where to begin......First, I would like to point out the folks in Massachusetts must not have middle school because they left that group completely out of their policy.  I'm guessing they are part of the high school.  Either way, in my opinion sex education begins at home and  starts a whole lot sooner than most folks think it does.  Having to actually teach them safety in regards to sex makes me sad, but it is what it is.

I will never forget the time when Alex was somewhere between two and three, we had apparently forgotten to lock our bedroom door and in the midst of the throes of passion I feel two eyes upon me, and it was not the cat.

I look over to my left and find myself staring straight at  Alex, chin propped up in the palms of her hands watching us with wide eyed interest.  She says in a  sweet, little voice; "Hi mommy, what you doing?"  I look up at Ray, who at this point is looming over me with a look on his face akin to a deer caught in the headlights, and say "I don't know, what we doing Ray?"

I believe this is where the "Ask your momma.  Ask your daddy" scenario originates in every household, your kid walks in on you while your having sex.  Now, we don't tell our children that's what we're doing, nooooo God forbid they should find that out!  Eventually, they do put two and two together though.

Kids for the first six or seven years of their lives are typically given the run around whenever they walk in on their parents "napping" in the middle of the day or "showering" together.  Once, one of the kids in children's church informed the entire class, when asked what their plans were for after church; "We always go home to eat lunch and then my mom and dad take off their shirts and wrestle while we are supposed to take a nap."

We as parents tend to steer our kids line of vision away from dogs going at it in the yard, and we hope they don't ask how fluffy got all those cute kittens in her tummy.  My kids have seen the frogs outside fill the kiddie pool to the brim with eggs and witnessed the resulting plague of frogs.  They have seen "Nacho riding Josie like a dirt bike" as Ray so eloquently puts it, but to this day,  neither of them has ever asked either of us those words dreaded by parents the world over; " Where do babies come from?"

Ray say's it's because I have told them so many whoppers over the years they wouldn't believe me anyway.  I always thought I would be well prepared because the truth is so fantastic, what better tale to tell!   I have been robbed!  Let's face it, they know where they come from, from the mommy's tummy, duh!  Isn't it lucky that I got to tell them how they got in there?  The question is,  do they know it can kill them?

When I was coming up, one of the worst things that could happen to a girl in school was to get pregnant out of "wedlock".  (Wedlock? That never sounded appealing, who thought that term up?)  These days kids go to school and exchange sexual favors like silly bands and label it "friends with benefits".

We have television shows that in my opinion remove the stigma from promiscuity or teenage pregnancy.  What do I mean?  How many of you were shocked and speechless the first time you saw that first plane fly into the twin towers on 9/11?  Ok, how many of you were still speechless three days later after you had seen it countless times?  You became numb to it all didn't you.

Shows on TV like The Girls Next Door, 16 and Pregnant or A Baby Story de-sensetise us  from the fact that sex  has come out from behind closed doors and is no longer something shared by a man and a woman joined in holy matrimony.  I want my girls to know that sex is not a game to be played with multiple partners, having a baby when your a teen is a big freaking deal and will make your dreams in life harder to achieve.  It's good that they see that love between a man and a woman is a wonderful thing and is best shared when your in a committed relationship, and as a result of sex in the relationship children will be born.  But I think that with the showing of this on television day in and day out, it takes away from what a true miracle  the birth of a child really is.

All in all, don't be afraid to talk to your kids.  Give em the facts jack, don't be afraid of filling their heads with ideas, they have plenty of  friends that will do that for you.  Truth is power, and this kind of truth can save their lives, so bite the bullet and have a talk with them. Don't assume they already know.

My youngest, Abby, is going to be 12 in seven days.  She is already getting boobs, knows all about "periods" and I'm pretty sure if there are any questions regarding sex she will be glad to answer them for me.  I'm kidding, she and I have had "the talk".  If  I ever bring the subject up, she turns red and gets all embarrassed.  I'm glad! I prefer her just the way she is, sweet and goofy, with a bottomless pit for a stomach that has currently discovered the delicacy of bacon covered with Redi Whip.  I hope she stays that way a little while longer.

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

The Color of My Parachute

In my never ending search for the leg up in life I have been led down many a path.  Today, I decided to investigate the website:  www.govbenefits.gov

This site allows you to take a questionnaire that uses your responses to multiple choice questions to determine what government grants, benefits, or programs you may qualify for.   Around question number 50,  I began to wonder if there was some sort of hidden camera logging my reaction to what I was being asked.

At first the questions were what I would categorize as typical; birth date, marital status, number in household, highest grade achieved.  Then, they began to delve further into topics I hadn't even realized there might be a grant or program for.  For example:  At one point I was asked if I was a victim of torture.  Well, I AM a parent of two girls, that does count, right?

Also, if I was suffering from any "military sexual trauma" there was some sort of program that I just might qualify for.  I have to admit that produced a kaleidoscope of images in my mind while trying to figure out just what MST was.

I happen to be someone that believes our military deserve every benefit, freebie, grant, handshake, hand pat, leg up, free ticket, or discount available out there in the USA.  I also do not understand why they, their spouses or minor children pay for anything. They have already committed their lives to their country, I believe that is payment enough for the rest of their lives.

Other questions wanted to know if I had fallen victim to any areas that had been declared a natural disaster or if I was the surviving spouse of anyone that had lost their lives in 9/11.    If I was a coal miner there was apparently a niche I fit into as well.  I'm guessing after this year, there will be questions regarding my falling victim to BP's little disaster in the Gulf.

I answered all their questions with complete honestly and thirty minutes later was given a list of programs that I just might qualify for.  All I needed to do was go onto each of their websites and fill out yet another questionnaire or application to determine eligibility.  All in all, I got exactly what I expected, a habit trail of websites to venture out on.  These sites were actually local government programs such as TANF and are great programs for those in need.  I just think it was a whole lot like going out the front door to get to the barn.

Why did I waste my time?  Well, so that I could provide you all with my slightly askew opinion on one of the sights that many of those "free money" authors are giving you in exchange for the dollars you are earning  by the sweat of your brow.....or via unemployment if you are amongst the almost 12% in our area.

I think I will continue to check out these million sellers and report back to you on whether or not they are worth your gold or are instead,  fools gold.Perhaps I can get enough folks to pay for  a subscription and I will develop a newsletter that will publish results of checking out all these places for you.  If you hear of something that sounds too good to be true, more than likely it is, but shoot it over to me, I will check it out for ya! (cheeseinmyhair@bellsouth.net)

In the meanwhile, I think I'm  gonna go back and answer those questions again and choose some of the more obscure answers and see just what else the government might have available to me.   Mmmmm,  I probably should be  determining exactly what color my parachute is.....honestly, I am more concerned with the functionality of my parachute over the color, currently, it seems to be dragging behind me, whilst the suspension lines are getting caught up in all manner of debris.

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

Vermin Coiffure

My claim to fame at our previous church was my hair.   For years I wore it long, usually slightly longer than shoulder length.  Those that have known me for a very long time know that my natural hair color is dark brown.  Natural.....perhaps Original would be a better way to put it.

I found that after having my children, I still liked wearing  my hair long, but it was becoming a nuisance.  It seems that while holding a sick infant in your lap, if the child is vomiting into your cupped hands, you need to grow two more arms in order to have enough hands to hold back your hair or your hands won't be the only thing that needs washing.  Who'da ever thunk it?  Vomit in your hair and it wasn't because you overindulged on cocktails!  Who signed me up for that?!

I learned many lessons from my girls, and your better off putting your hair up in a ponytail was one of them.  Don't get me wrong, the spewing didn't last forever, but my desire to have flowing locks  ended when they kept getting caught up in the closures of disposable diapers or crusty with boogers.  All in all,  it was just better to wear it up or in my case cut it short.

Something else I learned, if at all possible, while your children are toddlers, it is best to wear a shirt that can be tucked in.  You may not always have a tissue handy, but a shirt tail will do in a pinch.  You just tuck it back in and no one is the wiser.  Wait, now I'm chasing rabbit's.  What was it I was talking about? Oh, yeah, hair.

At the same church that labeled me the girl with a thousand hairstyles, I met one of the best friends a girl could ever have, my friend and partner in crime, Trina P.    Many an adventure has began on the top of my head and she has been there right behind me, poised over the chair ready to give her opinion, encourage, or nix any idea that I may come up with in regards to what to do with the hair on my head.  You find yourself a good friend that can also did your hair, well, you have yourself something special!

This past Tuesday, Trina was kind enough to trim my hair for me.  She was very patient as always since I had mentioned the previous week that I might want a perm...might.   She will tell you that translates into I am bored with my hair and while everyone else thinks it looks great that is not good enough because I don't think it looks great.  Ya'll should really pray for her, cause I imagine she is gonna need some of the vertebrae in her neck replaced after all these years of shaking her head at me.

I felt that since I am currently in the market for gainful employment, it would be best if I was, well, looking my best.  That is why I got my hair trimmed.  Today, while attending yet another class at the unemployment office, I noticed something on the ground ahead of me as I approached the sidewalk leading into the building.  At first I thought it was a necklace made from a piece of leather.  Uh, no.  It was a rat tail.

Now, I don't mean the tail end of an actual rat like Templeton from Charlotte's Web.  I'm talking about the hairstyle that was popular in the 80's.  Apparently someone decided that before entering the unemployment office they should rethink their hairstyle as well, and do their very best to tidy up a bit .  I guess whoever it was, found it beneath themselves to pursue  a career in trash collection considering their total disregard for the available trash receptacles and instead chose to litter.

Don't get me wrong, I, of all people, believe in freedom of expression, especially when it comes to your hairstyle.  I myself have sported every hair color normally found in nature and a couple only found in a bag of skittles, so I'm no goody two shoes about it.  I just don't understand why they just threw there on the ground instead of in the trash.  Perhaps they knew I would be walking by and wouldn't be able to resist blogging about it?

Either way people, if your gonna try and do a little personal grooming in the parking lot of an establishment, let's limit it to clipping your nails and clearing any bat's outta the cave.  If you feel the need to go hacking away at your rat tail or mullet, for crying out loud, throw it in the trash!

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

Fun House Mirrors

I have a full length mirror on the wall in my master bathroom.  I cannot decide why it is really there because lately I feel like what was once a help in determining whether or not I should actually leave the house in what I had on, is now there just to mock me.

This morning, I am all but certain someone snuck into my house in the middle of the night and replaced it with one of those fun-house mirrors from the circus.  It's either that or my current exercise plan of 1 sit up a day is not working out for me.  I was really trying not to overexert myself cause lawd knows the last thing I need is a pulled muscle, so every morning upon arising I do 1/2 of my sit-up, and every evening the other half as I lay back down.

Surprisingly, it's not really creating much of an impact, I now have that dreaded "pear shape"  going on.  I wonder if it might be that the mirror is coming loose from the top, and it's now just reflecting my image from a different angle now?  Uh, yea, I should be so lucky!

About three years ago I went to a personal trainer for 24 sessions of instruction on the use of weights and cardio in order to get physically fit.  Her name was Donna and she was awesome!  Sadly, I ended up going back to work full-time and my 5 am workouts no longer fit into my schedule.

I now still weigh the same, it is just that now my muscles have grown as soft as my willpower and I no longer am as compact as I once was.  I thought that I would keep an Iron Woman diary during those sessions so I thought I would share Day 1 from that very first workout:

Iron Woman Diary ~ Day 1
Today was day 1 in my quest for physical fitness.  My goal is to go from J-ello Butt to J-Lo Butt.  Is it possible to do this in 24 sessions?  We shall see.


The personal trainer that I have selected to help me reach my goal is Donna, I shall lovingly refer to her as the Muscle Nazi from here on out.  What little I have been around her I have enjoyed very much!  She is so knowledgeable and so very encouraging, I am confident that I will be a changed person by the end of the summer…..either that or a complete cripple, only time will tell.


Today we worked on my legs and I think my upper body.  She told me when I got there what we would be working on but once we got started I just concentrated on what she was saying and getting my sea legs.  I don’t know if any of you have ever worked your bodies out in quite this manner, but once you fatigue your muscles to a certain extent, they start to feel really “watery” and you find yourself walking to your next set of equipment with a gait somewhat akin to Groucho Marx, you know, when he would do that sort of walking lunge around the room.  He would take incredibly long steps and his knee’s would almost be touching the ground with each step he took.  I am sure mine looked like more of a drunken version of his but that is the best way I can describe it.


Once I left the gym and headed toward my truck in the parking lot, which took slightly longer that the trip into the building because my thigh muscles felt like jelly and I was mentally kicking myself for parking so far away (third space from the door), and I then realized that I was in a four wheel drive vehicle and I was going to have to climb up into the cab of the truck.  It may as well have been Mount Everest.  I thought I was going to need a grappling hook to throw up in there to help me get inside and mind you this vehicle doesn’t even have a lift kit!!


After the short drive home I opened the door and forgot that I had just spend the last hour torturing my legs and when I stepped out of the cab my legs just gave out and I fell to the ground.  It was so funny I just rolled over on my back and laughed.   After I forced myself up I staggered to the carport door and gathered enough strength to lift my legs the six inches necessary to clear the threshold.


I have to say it has been a comedy of errors ever since.  I have done my best to keep moving so that I don’t completely rust over but it seems to be a losing battle.  Tomorrow I am sure will be very interesting.  I hope I don’t have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, my screams as I try to lift myself from the bed might scare my family.


Peace Out!

It seems that I never got further than documenting Day 1, I  confess it was because those first two weeks I wasn't able to move around very well much less sit and type!  This morning I have resolved to go back to implementing the techniques that Donna so carefully trained me in and soon I hope to meet my goal of fitting back into those clothes that now my youngest daughter has been pilfering from my closet.  Will it happen?  Well it did once before, so I am forever hopeful.   Here's to the battle of the bulge!

©  2010  Annette Bagley-Martin

Blackened Bacon

The other day Ray was telling about how a guy he knew had this unique way of cooking bacon that kept it from curling up. It turns out this guy would put a plate down on top of the bacon in the pan and that pressed it down flat while it cooked and not only kept it from shrinking it also kept grease from splattering all over the place.

I decided to try it out, lawd knows I hate the grease splatter, as far as the bacon curling up, that wasn't really a deal breaker for me. I didn't have any plates that fit down inside my iron skillet, in fact I was curious about this particular detail as I can't imagine how he maneuvered that around while cooking. I decided to use a pot lid from a set of enamel pots that fit inside my skillet perfectly. My fork also fit nicely into the thingy you use to lift the lid so I didn't have to worry about burning myself.

It turned out that my bacon strips were still so long that they curled up around the edges of the pot lid, so no perfectly flat bacon here. The first batch turned out burnt to a crisp in the middle and raw on the edges. I got interested in reading my email (that's code for getting on facebook) a few short feet away from the stove and lost track of time, so I burnt the bacon.

The next batch, I cut the strips in half and had another go at it. Burnt again as I was a slow learner that day and didn't give the stove my full attention. Apparently my "lid it and forget it" technique was clearly not the way to go! Yep, I was still trying to fb and cook at the same time.

Third batch I realized that if I just listened closely, I could tell when the bacon was getting close because as it turns out bacon stops making a frying sound when it's on the verge of turning to charcoal. Better yet, use the same rules as microwave popcorn and when the popping sounds get slower, you better get your butt over to the stove and turn the bacon over.

All in all breakfast turned out OK. There was nary a kitchen fire, even though I neglected the frying pan the majority of the time. I have to admit though, the thick sliced bacon I purchased, turned out to be the same texture as Streak-O-Lean due to the lack of attention during the cooking process. That brings back memories, who else loves eating the rind from that salty treat? Mmmmmm, streak-0-lean, I need to add that to the grocery list!

Hiding Candy From Babies

Today I was on a mission to get some long overdue de-cluttering done in the front part of the house.  I began in the laundry room and discovered the exhaust pipe or whatever you want to call it that runs from the dryer to the outside vent has come loose yet AGAIN and there is lint everywhere.  If something ever generates a spark in there the laundry room is gonna light up like a Christmas tree.  You will see a black cloud of smoke for miles generated from the 10,000 pieces of plastic "silver" (as my grandmother used to call it) stored in there along with my many left over paper plates from various events.

It was during the throwing out of the 15 different plastic cake takers that have nary a lid that fits, that I discovered the wrapper of a Now and Later package with one lonely candy, hanging in the wrapper like a loose tooth, lying over in the corner of the laundry room.  This sweet find was partially concealed by a dust hippo, created from the endless supply of lint blowing wildly about every time a load of laundry spun dry.

Oh Goody!  Something sweet!  I blew the dust off my treat while doing the Snoopy Dance around the broom I was using to drag socks out from behind the  washer.  How do miscellaneous articles of clothing get back there anyway?  I know I'm not the one that is tossing unmentionables willy nilly into the washer at such a pace that they are getting flung behind the appliance.  What exactly is going on when I'm not there to monitor the goings on in the laundry room.  Inquiring minds want to know.

While weeding through the endless supply of crap that for some reason has taken up residence in the laundry room I decide that this is the perfect place to hide stuff, namely sweet stuff, from the kids!  I could shove a fistful of Smarties in a tube sock and hang them from a nail behind the washer.  One things for sure, the kids are not going to look for them there.

Don't judge, I know you all hide stuff from your kids, what grownup doesn't?  My kids have slowly but surely found all my other hiding places so I think this new place will fit the bill nicely.  Although, I'm thinking chocolate will not hold up very well to the heat generated by the dryer so I need to get Ray crack-a-lacking on that clothesline he's supposed to put up for me.....

What? Schools Out!

Uhhgggg.  Summer break is upon us and boy am I not prepared.  I am not ready for my seven hours of solitude during which I work out whatever I have planned for the day to end, just like that, in a puff of smoke.  Usually I am better prepared, and the entire last week of school is treated as my last hurrah during which I do my housework, lunch with friends, roam the local bookstore, and sip my coffee uninterrupted, well mostly uninterrupted on the front porch.  I really am pitiful, I never would have made it as a homeschooling mother.

This year, during the last week of school my time was spent doing all the things that take place for the graduating seniors.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not begrudging my senior her last week of high school and all the functions that we, as parents get to share with them, I'm whining about the fact that I didn't do my annual shoveling out of Abby's room before she was out of school for the summer.  This task is best done while she is not on the premises.

I'm bellyaching about the fact that now I will have to acclimate myself to people being in the house with me again during the day.   I'm sad about the disappearing of the wonderful silence where there are no TV's playing.   Gone will be the joy of having all phone extensions remaining on the hook to charge and being ready and available when you need them, or the satisfaction of  once  a room is cleaned,  it remaining that way until the other residents of this nut house arrive home at the end of the day.  Pitiful isn't it?

My days will now shift to include the kids out on the porch in the mornings with me, I wouldn't give anything for the conversations that have been had out there or all the ones to come.  I have found the best conversations with the girls happen either out on that porch or on drives in the car.  I look forward to the topics this summer will bring.

Alex has a job lined up so that should get her out of the house.  Instead of her wanting us to fund her activities, I look forward to her enjoying the feeling of  a job well done and the reward of financial independence as a result of it.

All I need to do now is figure out how to keep Abby occupied.  I wonder if I can employ the same tactics my own mother used on us?  You know, send her out to play and dare her to even think about coming in and dirtying the house.   I think I even remember my mom locking the screen door to keep us from slamming it, or was it to keep us out of her hair?

That could backfire on me since Abby is my adventuresome one.  A little while back, when she had a friend over to spend the night, I looked out the window in time to see her and her guest putting on helmet's as they climbed a tree to test out the zip line they had rigged up.  I better just suck it up instead and crack the whip in the picking up after oneself department.
Well, tomorrow is the first day of the rest of summer vacation, so wish